


The old meddler

by Tales of Josan archivist (nocturnus)



Series: Old Meddler's universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Written Pre-Half Blood Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 02:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnus/pseuds/Tales%20of%20Josan%20archivist
Summary: Sometimes people do know better.





	The old meddler

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally archived by Josan at Tales_of_Josan blog at Live Journal during December 2, 2004. She hasn’t updated since 2008. As you might know, Lj administration reserve the right to delete inactive blogs. I am merely putting her fics onto AO3 so that they are safe from any issues on LJ.  
> I'm doing this for the purpose of preserving her fics.

_Chestnuts roasting by an open fire,  
Jack Frost nipping at your nose..._

 

Severus Snape snorted at the sounds that inundated the Muggle shopping  
area. Merlin! If Jack Frost were really nipping at their noses, they would  
have no bloody noses left!

His already notorious short temper was being strained to the maximum by  
the never-ending sap that was assaulting his ears as he tried to accomplish  
this mission for He-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. Damn Dumbledore and his so-  
called innocuous requests.

"My boy, I normally wouldn't ask, as I know that you aren't particularly keen  
on traversing Muggle territory..."

Yes, the old bugger knew that and, yes, he bloody well was asking.

So here he was, eyes on the crowd of last-minute shoppers, trying to dodge  
elbows and arms overly laden with bags of all sizes as he, Severus Snape,  
Potions Master, former spy for the Order of the Phoenix, recipient of an  
actual Order of Merlin, First bloody Class, was acting as errand boy for the  
wizard who always knew how to pull his strings. You would have thought  
that with the demise of Voldemort...

But no, Severus Snape was still far too susceptible to the machinations of  
He-of-the-Twinkly-Eyes. Would his debt never be paid?

He bumped into some grandmotherly woman who looked as harried as he  
felt. Before he had time to snap at her to watch where she was going, she  
snarled, "Where the fuck yer going, arsehole!" and proceeded to use her  
shoulder – rather effectively – to shove him out of her way.

His hand actually twitched in its need to reach for his wand.

Unfortunately, the fact that he had remained still in this flood of humanity  
meant that he was now being bumped into and snarled at with a  
demonstration of basic Anglo-Saxon that finally got him moving. He  
managed to make his way to the edge of a building which allowed him at  
least to catch his breath. Still, he had to flatten himself so as not to disrupt  
the flow of traffic that penetrated even his little sanctuary.

Snape shut his eyes and wished he could only do the same to his ears. It  
was December 24th, and Albus should have thought to warn him.

But, of course, if he had, Snape would have tried to find a way of getting out  
of this assignment. Albus knew him far too well.

Snape took a deep breath, braced himself and opened his eyes. The onset  
of a headache meant that he had to squint against the lights that illuminated  
the area. The street sign posted on a near-by corner informed him that he  
was at least in the right part of York. Scanning the numbers and names of  
the stores – though tall, he had to rise on tip-toe to see over the various  
headgear – he realised that he was in relatively close proximity to his  
destination. Gathering his courage in two hands...

Hell, he had faced – and lived to survive! – an irrational, infuriated  
Voldemort, who had had to confront the fact that his pet whipping boy was  
in cahoots with Harry Potter when the Boy-Who-Lived had confronted him  
with the truth of the prophecy and his death!

Snape forced himself back into the stream of anxious shoppers. Feeling like  
a salmon making its way upstream, and with the same determination, he  
finally attained his goal.

It was with a sigh of relief that he closed the door behind him, his ears still  
thrumming with street sounds, barely hearing the tinkle of the bell  
announcing to the proprietor of this particular establishment that he had a  
customer.

An only customer, Snape realised, when the silence eventually made its way  
past his popping eardrums.

The shop was not particularly big. There were two walls of shelving that  
may have held something at one time: right now they were bare. Scattered  
about on the centred display unit were three solitary boxes of varying sizes  
and a limp, forlorn Polichinelle.

Said clown raising its head in anticipation was a clear indication that this was  
a magical shop in the midst of a Muggle community. When Snape ignored it,  
the toy scowled and went back to drooping.

What the hell did Albus want from this place?

"I'm sorry," came a voice from the curtain that separated the shop front  
from whatever there was in the back. "As you can see, pretty much  
everything has been sold."

The curtain parted and someone stood in the archway. "Prof...Professor  
Snape?"

Snape moved closer to the counter that stood in front of the archway. He  
was in the light and had obviously been recognised, but the speaker was still  
in the shadow of the curtain.

A man. Slim. Wearing a drab brown robe. Red-haired. Which probably  
meant one of the Weasley tribe. Pale blue-grey eyes. Bearded.

Quickly running down the list of Weasleys, Snape had to concentrate on the  
eyes before he found a name that fit. "Percy Weasley."

Weasley didn't move, didn't even acknowledge Snape's conclusion. He stood  
still and silent, as though waiting for something.

Snape felt his face tighten at the sight of the one Weasley who had chosen  
the wrong side. Oh, the man had seen the light. Eventually. Towards the  
end. And had sent some information on. Nothing all that important.  
Nothing that they hadn't already known from other sources. Just enough, it  
would seem, to save his hide.

Snape took the opportunity to use his wand – the man caught himself from  
stepping back – to transform the Muggle clothing he wore back to his own  
comfortable wizard ones. Bloody Albus hadn't told him that this was a  
wizard shop: he could have spared himself the trial of dealing with the hell of  
the main street and just Apparated here. He would certainly be Apparating  
back.

"I've come," Snape used the coldest of his voices, "at the behest of the  
Minister for Magic."

Because, thank Merlin, the traitor Fudge was now in his proper place, a cell  
in Azkaban. Which was where this one should also have been. Had been,  
the last he'd heard of him. Well, it seemed that being a Weasley counted for  
something in this new world of theirs.

"Yes." The voice was surprisingly calm. "The package is in the back. I'm  
certain you will want to check the contents against the invoice in order to be  
certain it is all there."

And with that, Weasley stepped aside, holding the curtain back, and waited  
for Snape to move around the counter and go into the back of the shop.

The back was no wider than the shop, but about half its size. Half of that  
was obviously used for storage of some kind, even if right now there was  
nothing on the shelves. But it was equally obvious that the other half was  
used as living space. There was a small cot, neatly made, taking up a  
corner. Taking up the other was a small counter with a smaller sink and a  
kettle steaming away over an even smaller fire. There were a couple of  
shelves above the counter, holding a few cups, plates, one bowl and cutlery  
on the higher one; a bottle of milk and a heel of bread, and some near  
empty jars on the lower.

"Loo's out the back."

Snape turned around to face the man who stood, arms by his side.

"People usually ask," he said, as he went over to the small table with its two  
chairs that filled the remainder of the space on the living side. Weasley  
pointed to the large open box that almost completely covered the top of the  
table.

"The Minister's order." He picked up a scroll and handed it to Snape, whose  
hand took it.

Snape glanced down as he unrolled the parchment stamped with the insignia  
of the Minister's office. The handwriting was immediately recognisable. He'd  
seen it often enough in his life.

"This is an order for bonbons and chocolate." Which he should have known,  
considering the shop's name was "Sweet Thoughts".

"That's what the establishment sells."

At the inquiring scowl Snape sent his way, Weasley added. "It's a Wheezes  
sideline."

Snape scoffed. "And what do they turn their eaters into this time?"

Because, after all, the products sold by "Wheezes: Jokes Extra-Ordinaires for  
Everyone" did have a certain reputation.

"Nothing. These are exactly what they appear to be." At Snape's  
incredulous scowl, Weasley explained, "It's to make m...Molly happy. It  
seems to balance out the wares that the twins make and sell in their other  
shops."

"Shops?"

Weasley nodded. "They're opening up a second in Diagon Alley in time for  
New Year's."

So the Terrible Two were successful, were they? Well, no one had ever  
doubted their intelligence. They'd even come up with a decent idea for use  
in the War. All right, to be honest, more than one. More than a few  
actually, though he'd always been reluctant to use anything they had  
devised.

Weasley glanced at the clock on the wall and turned to pull back the curtain.

"Where are you going?" snapped Snape.

The man stilled, his hand on the curtain. "It's closing time. I have to lock  
up." He looked over his shoulder. "With your permission, sir?"

Snape nodded, a feeling of something like unease passing through him at  
the tone and words. As he listened to the sounds coming from the front, he  
took a second look around the small space.

The unease grew.

He wanted to shrug it off, but too many years of paying attention to his  
responses demanded that he pay attention.

One of the things that had irritated him – and still did – about Weasleys was  
how they managed to create a messy environment, no matter where they  
went. The twins had been particularly bad – or good – at it. They would  
appear in the well-ordered command room of the Order and properly  
stacked scrolls would sudden scatter, neatly trimmed quills would begin  
leaking and blobbing, and memos would fly into each other.

Bill and Charlie could be neat: in their particular lines of work, messiness  
meant injury or death. But on their own time and in their own space, they  
weren't much better than the twins. As for the two youngest...Ginny was  
more organized, but Ron! And obligatory visits to the Burrow were always  
painful for Snape.

But here was a space inhabited by a Weasley with absolutely nothing out of  
place. Neat. Clean. Bare. Looking almost as though no one lived in it.

It bothered him. Even remembering how prim this Weasley had been as a  
student, how his work had always been meticulous, detailed – usually overly  
so!

Merlin! As a student, Percy Weasley had represented the best and the worst  
of an organised mind. Everything in its place. With a strong dose of barely-  
tolerable pomposity and moral superiority. Even Snape, who was fond of  
order and detail, had found this Weasley difficult to endure.

"Is everything there?"

Snape looked up from the list he'd been staring at. He felt he had to say  
something. "I shall never understand Albus's fascination with sherbet  
lemons."

Weasley shrugged and went to sit on the chair facing Snape. He placed his  
hands flat on the edge of the table.

Snape suddenly caught a flash of a memory, of his having to place his hands  
flat on any table they had sat him at during interrogation at Azkaban. Even  
though they always confiscated wands, they never trusted hands. Now that  
he thought about it, he seemed to remember the last that he'd heard of this  
Weasley was from a stern and cold Arthur who had, on being offered some  
supposedly consoling comment from an Order member, indicated that Percy  
Weasley, such as he was, was where he properly deserved to be.

Snape didn't think Arthur had meant the back room of a candy shop.

A couple of quick glances between list and box indicated that all required  
was present. He rolled up the parchment and handed it to Weasley. "Is  
there anything else?"

"No, that's all. May I close the parcel for you?"

At Snape's nod, Weasley slowly rose from the chair and went over to the  
storage side of the room. He returned with some contraption that made  
Snape itch for his wand. So that he felt a little embarrassed when the man  
used whatever it was to tape the box shut. With a flick of his wrist, the tape  
tore against the mechanism and Weasley patted the ends down. Done, he  
replaced the taping item back where he'd taken it from and went to stand  
behind his chair.

Snape hadn't taken his eyes off the man as he'd worked and had finally  
placed the unease. There was a deadness to the gestures. As though  
Weasley were forcing himself to move from...beyond.

"How long have you been out?" he snarled, almost against his will. Why the  
hell was he even asking? What the hell did it matter?

Weasley had to think about it. "About...six months."

"I suppose you'll be going to the Burrow when I leave?" Now why had he  
asked that? Why was he asking this traitor anything?

He got his first emotional response. A laugh. Just one. Raw. Rough. Like  
a rasp on marble.

"No." Weasley shook his head once. "No. You could say that I am ‘persona  
non grata' among Weasleys."

Something made Snape push. "I would think that the mere fact that you are  
here..."

Weasley only shook his head once more before dropping into his chair. His  
head bowed over his folded hands and then he looked up. "Arthur won't  
allow it."

Arthur. Not father. And it had been Molly, not mum.

"Why won't he?" Why was he still here, asking these questions?

Weasley shrugged. "She cries all the time I'm there. M...Molly does. Arthur  
says that she's spilt far too many tears over me. And he finds the sight of  
me hard to endure. All Weasleys do."

"Yet you're working for the twins." Why didn't he just pick up the bloody  
parcel and get out of here?

Instead, Snape pulled the second chair out and sat in it. Weasley's hands  
immediately went flat on the tabletop. Six months out of Azkaban, Snape's  
own hands would have done the same thing.

Weasley looked up and actually met his eyes. "There are other prisons than  
Azkaban."

Hell, Snape knew that. Hogwarts had been his for twenty years. "How did  
you get out of Azkaban?"

Weasley closed his eyes, a small, strange smile appeared on his lips. "Molly  
cried. Seems she made herself ill with it. Ha...Harry Potter spoke for me at  
my trial. Said I was not dangerous, just stupid. The Wizengamot agreed  
with him."

Snape snorted. "I have to agree with the stupid. What ever made you go  
over to Fudge in the first place, Weasley?"

The rare few times he had thought about it, Snape had always wondered  
about that. Fudge was such an arse. Such an idiot. The only thing Weasley  
had had in common with the former Minister for Magic was his pomposity.  
Was that what had attracted the man to Fudge's camp?

Weasley tipped his head back, as though it were too heavy to hold upright.  
His eyes were fixed on some spot on the ceiling that, when Snape glanced  
up, turned out to be a water stain. So the roof leaked, did it?

A short sound came out of Weasley, one of those that set the chills to  
running up and down Snape's spine.

"I thought...Oh, Merlin, I was stupid, but I bought the story that Harry Potter  
and Albus Dumbledore were fear-mongers. That there was no Voldemort.  
That he had truly been eliminated. I didn't know that Fudge had been  
bought by Lucius Malfoy. That most of the Minister's office were banking  
Malfoy generosity."

"That is knowledge after the fact, Weasley," snapped Snape. "It doesn't  
explain why you went to him in the first place."

Weasley's head came forward enough to tilt to one side. His eyes were filled  
with disquieting laughter.

"I thought I was going to help my family. Rise in the ranks. Show the  
wizarding world that not all Weasleys were merely into procreation. Working  
in departments with no future prospects, like muggle artefacts. Into causing  
mayhem, like the twins. Into taking careers that were suspect, like Bill  
working for Gringotts, or considered odd, like Charlie and his dragons."

His voice had an edge of hysteria in it as he pronounced, "I, Percy Weasley,  
was going to rise high in the bureaucracy of the Ministry and make the  
Weasley name something worthy of respect and consideration, not the  
laughing stock it was."

Weasley's eyes dropped to his hands. "Merlin," he whispered, "I was such a  
fool!"

Snape winced at the disgust, the self-loathing in that last comment. But he  
was also surprised to find that he understood.

Had he not been drawn to Voldemort for similar reasons? Wanting to be  
important enough to garner someone's attention. Make a place for himself  
in this world that had mocked him and nearly killed him.

"Such an idiot," continued Weasley. His laughter made the hair on Snape's  
neck rise. "Willfully blind to what was so obvious to everyone else."

"Yet you changed path at the end."

"Too late." The voice dripped bitterness. "And, by then, Fudge trusted no  
one. So the information I thought I was putting my neck on the line to get  
was of no value to anyone. Not even me. If it hadn't been for my family's  
relationship with Potter..."

Weasley controlled the emotions that were spilling from him. He sat up,  
blinked several times as though reminding himself of where he was, and  
finally rose to his feet.

"Tea. Would you like some tea? I was about to make a pot when you  
arrived."

Snape nodded, his eyes never leaving the young man as he efficiently  
warmed a pot and prepared the tea for steeping.

"I can't offer you anything else," murmured Weasley. "The cupboard is  
bare."

"Haven't had time to go shopping?"

Weasley stilled. "No. The twins are late with my weekly provisions." The  
smile he turned on Snape was bitter. "I work for them in exchange for room  
and board. That is the understanding we have."

Snape said nothing. What was there to say? It was obvious from Weasley's  
tone that it wasn't the first time provisions were late. He'd always sensed a  
nastiness to the twins' experiments; it would seem that not only Hogwarts  
students – and now their clientele – had encountered it.

"Can you use your magic..."

Snape was interrupted by another bark of harsh laughter than was more  
worrying with each repetition.

"Are you banned from using your magic?"

Weasley brought two cups and the sugar bowl over to the table. With  
careful gestures, he pulled his wand out and used it to draw the teapot and  
milk bottle over. Immediately the room was filled with a cacophony of bells  
and whistles. Weasley leaned towards Snape and, over the blaring noise,  
shouted, "You'll have to turn that off. I can't."

Snape pulled out his wand and cast a silencing spell. The sudden silence  
was almost as painful as the noise had been.

"The twins have a different sense of justice than the Wizengamot. They  
don't like it when Molly cries. It's all right if they make her cry, but  
no else should. Most especially me. They think it poetic justice that I, who  
derided our father for being enthralled with Muggle life, should be forced to  
live like one."

Weasley sat and began pouring out the tea. "How do you take it, sir?"

"As is," said Snape. Weasley's calm acceptance of the situation bothered  
him again. The man was too calm. "Why do you stay here?'

Weasley handed him the cup. "Where else could I go?"

"Would you prefer Azkaban?"

Weasley paused in his pouring. He thought as he fixed his tea with a touch  
of milk and a half-teaspoon of sugar. The fact that he was actually thinking  
about it made Snape frown. Bloody hell! When he had been offered  
Dumbledore's deal, he hadn't had to think on it; he had grabbed it with both  
hands. Anything was better than Azkaban.

But the fact that Weasley here was considering his question...

"No. I suppose not."

Suppose not! Snape placed his cup on the table. He had another round of  
those chills. He glanced once more around the room and wondered at the  
sterility of small living section. And then he saw it: up on the shelf. Where  
the milk bottle had been. A small vial. Unlabeled. Its contents colourless.  
Snape squinted at it. He had no trouble recognising the vial; it had the same  
form of the ones he had once used at Hogwarts, until the maker had  
changed the shape for something a little fancier and therefore more  
expensive.

So the potion was not new.

As to the contents, what would he have had the N.E.W.T.s-level students do  
the year Weasley had been one of them? That was colourless?

Oh, bloody hell! They'd been making poisons that year.

Snape covered his discovery with another sip of tea. Weasley was just  
sitting there, not aware that Snape had seen what he had. Or maybe just  
not caring.

"Were you raped in Azkaban?" Ah, the shock of that had at least got that  
head up again. "Do the twins know..."

Weasley laughed and Snape winced as he waited for the bark to fade. Then  
there was a sigh and Weasley merely shook his head.

"Technically, it wasn't rape."

Snape snorted. "Technically, in Azkaban, it is never rape."

Weasley squinted at him, seemingly surprised. That last was obvious in his  
voice when he said, as though to himself, "Oh, that's right. I had forgotten.  
You spent some time in Azkaban yourself."

Snape nodded.

"Was..."

"Was what?" Snape wondered.

Weasley stared into his cup. "Was Mutton there when you were?"

Snape could feel his breath catch. Mutton. His body began aching in places  
it hadn't since he'd been rescued by Dumbledore.

"Yes. He was a new intake."

Weasley nodded. "He's head guard now."

"So, technically, not rape. How did he technically not rape you?"

Weasley set the cup on the table and rubbed his face with the heels of his  
hands. "After interrogation..."

"Auror interrogation?" Snape knew what was coming. His sphincter clinched  
in memory.

Weasley nodded. "He used to have me lean over a table...and..."

"And verify that you hadn't snuck anything contraband into your rectum."

Weasley almost smiled. "With his hand."

Snape nodded. "Technically not rape. Are you queer?"

Another little shock. And, this time, wariness. "Does it matter? Or are you  
one of those who thinks that queers deserve a hand shoved dry into their  
arse?"

"Is that what the twins would think? Is that why you haven't mentioned it?  
Your father might..."

Weasley stood up so suddenly that Snape actually reached for his wand.  
After a moment during which neither man moved, not even to take a breath,  
Weasley picked up his cup and took it over to the small sink to clean it.

"If the twins ever found out..." Weasley spoke to the cup in his hands.

"They would make your life an even greater misery," Snape finished off.

"I think I fear more that my...father would say it was what I deserved."  
Weasley looked over his shoulder. "The fact that the twins share their  
women is far more acceptable than a queer son." There was that smile  
again. "You, of all people, must know that."

Snape didn't deny his queerness. He had long ago accepted that wizardry  
society might tolerate a teacher who had been a Death Eater, but not one  
who favoured men in his bed.

"Is that why the vial?"

This time Weasley's smile was real. "I should have known that you'd identify  
it as soon as you set eyes on it."

"I ordered them all destroyed after the course."

Weasley shrugged. "One of my rare disregards for the rules. The Burrow  
has wormwood and I was going to use it to deal with the problem."

"You were there long enough after you left Hogwarts to do so."

Weasley's smile was sad. "I wanted to surprise Molly. Besides, I intended to  
do it when no one was around. You made me very aware of its potential  
danger. I wanted to make sure there could be no accidents. Unfortunately,  
an empty Burrow is a rare one. I took it with me when I left, out of fear that  
it would get into the twins' hands."

Snape grimaced in horror at that idea.

"I forgot I had it until I was permitted to go through my things. The Aurors  
had cleaned out my bedsit for me and, for some reason, hadn't noticed what  
it was."

Snape smirked. "Yes, indeed. After all, why would someone keep a vial of  
extremely potent poison around?"

Weasley nodded. "Especially someone like me. Big mistake on their part."

Snape snorted. "Some of them couldn't find their prick if it didn't stand up  
and demand notice every once in a while."

Weasley blinked and then laughed. Not one of those barks, but a soft  
chuckle that made Snape want to smile in response to Weasley's enjoyment.

He waited until the man was still again. "Don't do it."

Weasley only cocked his head. "Why not?"

Snape looked at his hands, the fingers stained from years of brewing  
potions. "Things do get better."

"You'll have to excuse me when I say I doubt that."

Snape looked up. "I've been where you are. If I had taken the potion I had  
prepared..."

"You wouldn't have spent all those years teaching people who hated you and  
whom you could barely tolerate."

Snape nodded. "True. But here I am now. Finally set free. I have enough  
money – because Albus did pay me more than room and board – to set up  
my own laboratory. I have a reputation garnered over years of yelling at  
students, who now need my potions and know that they will be of the best  
quality possible, for I will not allow anything less to leave my premises. And  
they will pay and pay highly for them."

Weasley's sudden smile made him look mischievous and years younger.  
"And some more than others?"

Snape allowed himself a grin. "Of course."

Weasley lost the smile. "But you see," he spoke softly, almost sadly, "I have  
nothing like that to look forward to. Only more years of the twins. You were  
lucky; you had Dumbledore. I have no one like that. You had skills he  
needed. Who would give someone like me, mediocre even in his attempts to  
help, a second chance?"

Snape rose and went over to the man who stood over by the small counter.  
He looked into eyes that truly saw no future other than the one Weasley had  
chosen for himself.

He knew that expression. Merlin knew, there had been a time he'd seen it  
often enough reflected back at him from his mirror.

And yes, Dumbledore had used him. But he'd also given him hope. Could  
he...?

"I seem to remember that your potions marks were quite decent."

Weasley shook his head. "Decent wasn't good enough. Remember?"

"As a teacher, I was never one for compliments," Snape shrugged. "So my  
decent was someone else's excellent. And I would pay more than room and  
board."

Weasley grew very still. "And what would I have to pay?"

Snape's eyebrow rose as he waited for clarification.

"Would I be expected to provide...services?"

Snape felt the rueful smile on his lips. "I have been celibate for over twenty  
years, young Weasley. And I do know what I look like."

So the fingertips that gingerly touched his cheek took his breath away.

As did his traitorous cheek turning towards the hand.

"Will you yell at me a lot?"

"Probably." The hand cupped his jaw line.

"Will I be allowed to yell back?"

Snape raised his hand and allowed it to rest lightly on Weasley's shoulder.

"Eventually."

So when Weasley's head dropped onto Snape's shoulder, it seemed to be the  
most natural of things for Snape to pull him in a little closer.

And, at the Ministry, in the Minister's office, Dumbledore paused in his  
reading of documents long ignored by the previous administration and  
looked off into space. After a moment, he smiled, with a fair amount of self-  
satisfaction. "I do hope they remember to send my order on," he said to no  
one before he went back to work.

(:):):)


End file.
